The Old Huntsman - Trailers
by Mark-Kris Robin Lancer
Summary: "But if you wish to wake the lion, then give him fangs!" An OC-centric series of introductory "trailers" for each character, from a "former" Faunus, to an inventor, the Ravenpelt bloodline, and, of course, the elusive and archaic "Hunter."
1. Alabaster

**Disclaimer: If I owned RWBY, then Pyrrha wouldn't pull off a killer quartet. That was MEAN. The "theme music" was not produced by me, and belongs solely to Bloodborne, Nobuyoshi Suzuki, and From Software.**

 **Huge, ginormous, gargantuan, genuine thanks to Cormag Ravenstaff for helping me while writing this! He's an extremely skilled writer, and has written a bunch of different stuff that will take up so much space up here if I listed them all (also, he has quite the selection of RWBY fanfics), so go check him out! Say a hello! Do whatever! I promise, you'll enjoy his writing immensely! :D *hurries off to read Now the Hunted and The Imperial Promise***

* * *

 _Trust not the ice that flatters and constrains thee_

 _But place faith in the fires that thou canst free_

* * *

"Follow me."

It was what the maroon-haired individual told him several minutes ago as they entered the ransacked ruins. It was obvious that it was destroyed not too long ago, give or take a handful of weeks. Much of everything was charred from the past fires. Parts of previous Atlesian automated models were scattered about, some looking as if they were ripped apart by some demonic force.

Unfortunately, said individual was somehow lost from his sight now, leaving him all alone in the wreckage of some old facility in the middle of a dark forest in the middle of nowhere. If anyone else was in his place, maybe they would be jittery, nervous, anxious and filled with apprehension.

 _[ Ludwig, the Accursed - Nobuyoshi Suzuki ]_

But not this one Huntsman-in-training. Creepy as the mechanic remains were, he kept his composure masterfully, calmly looking for any signs or trails his instructor may have left. It wasn't as if he was an exceptionally stealthy person.

His search was interrupted with a soft rumbling from the twisted rubble. A gloved hand inched towards the sword sheathed at his back. Youthful, red eyes shifted towards the origin of the disturbance. Save for his softened breaths and the faint forest breeze moving just stray strands of his tame, white hair, nothing else seemed to stir the pregnant silence.

Straining his eyes, he took careful watch of the artificial, skeletal remains of the facility.

Yet another twitch.

His muscled tensed, his breathing slowed even-

Then everything _exploded_. Debris went flying like shrapnel, and were it not for his quick reflexes and the convenient broadness of his blade, he surely would have not gotten out of this initial confrontation alive. Before the smoke began to clear, an eight-legged robot jumped out onto the disturbed forest grounds, a blaster on what appeared to be its head cooling down. The outdated automaton immediately zeroed in on the ungraduated teen and took upon a threatening stance, giving off its intention to pounce or blast him at any second, whichever action it would prefer to perform, like a mechanical spider about to attack its prey. It wouldn't be too surprising if it could, in some way, release a liquid toxin against its enemies.

A metallic scream pulsed out.

He really hoped it can't as his feet shifted positions, holding his blade between his opponent and himself.

The sword had a strange translucent, turquoise blade, alluding to its more dust-oriented nature. Its broadness in comparison with its size looked almost laughable if it didn't also look like a weapon of mass destruction. The hilt was sparsely decorated, instead homing what seem to be colored buttons. Despite his deceptively thin figure, he seemed to wield it with no problem at all, pointing it out with the tip facing the robot.

Silence could have almost settled again if the automaton chose not to fire repetitively at the teen. He moved effortlessly out of the way, using his sword to block whatever he couldn't dodge before running back to give his own strike. The metal-like crystal struck metal, and it carved a deep groove into the robot. It staggered back from the sheer force, trying to recollect itself together in vain, as with another slash it had easily been hacked apart.

Still not over his sudden adrenaline rush, he looked about, and nearly had been jumped on by two more identical models. He crashed into the remains of the unknown facility, quickly scrambling back up, using his sword as a crutch, simultaneously backstepping out of a bladed swipe.

Whoever had owned this place before, they certainly were extremely serious about security here.

He frantically pressed a green button on the hilt while bracing the onslaught of metallic appendages and swung his blade. It was a poor hit, but it didn't matter. Both sides of the fight were blown away with a green-tinged gale, the human's blade briefly glowing with a brilliance of the same hue before returning to its natural state. He took the short moment of respite he had to take account of what exactly he had gotten himself into.

 _Br-brrrt!_

Atop the scarred pile of steel, he spotted three more of them join their motley robot band.

He readied himself and jumped down, yelling out a war cry. All of them scuttled out of the way, but with another press of a different switch, the now-tan blade created a quake as both it and its owner struck the ground with immense force, knocking over a few of their numbers, as well as raising a rock spire or two. He quickly took advantage of his chance and cut apart a stray robot. He whipped around, and suddenly there were two more. Undeterred, the blade turned white at another press, and he swing horizontally, making a pillar of light collide violently into another robot, effectively burning it, at least.

A shadow sporting eight legs fell over him, screeching nails on a chalkboard, and he took no time to roll out of the way as a robot got stuck in the ground instead of his own flesh. A few fired bullets, bullets that he did his best to avoid some and wincing at the rest. He swung his sword at a robot, blowing a dent into its body that he only made worse with a finishing thrust. Sparks and wire fell out, but the rookie made no effort to stop and admire his handiwork.

He resetted his stance and stood his ground as one more robot joined the fray. A leg nearly sliced his jacket open, and he almost missed blocking a flurry of bullets. Another got to his arm and just missed the stitched white emblazoned emblem. Through the fight, his bastard sword held strong, effectively utilizing both dust and raw strength to smite his opponents.

He found a head he could strike at, and took the chance.

But missed.

His hasty move brought its consequences as bladed legs shoved him into the air, then one, two, four blasts of pure fire launched at him, throwing him back to the pile of debris, disturbing it in the process.

 _[ Ludwig, the Holy Blade - Nobuyoshi Suzuki ]_

Smoke set in the air, obscuring even the automaton's extrasensory receptors. They continually scanned their surroundings, searching for confirmation of the trespasser's demise. The forest seemed to tremble at the display of such cold mechanical violence, yet dared not to voice its protests.

A whirring, robotic Morse code of clicks and soft screeches.

One sensed heat, and readied a barrel at its way, waited for a moment, and fired.

The lack of any further sound only pointed at no purchase.

 _Crrk?_

Firing again.

Nevermind, there was a sound, yet it seemed like a brick hitting rubber.

They could hear heavy breathing, but because of the ashen mist, it was difficult to place it on a fixed point. A dim hum resounded, and they all focused on what has most likely the decaying metal skeleton of the former building.

The smoke cleared like a knife through butter, and the swordsman stood proudly, even while sporting a nasty bruise and a burn or two. He was outlined in glowing white, making his pale skin seem all the more ghostly, and his warm, red eyes shone with determination.

And his sword, his sword, a brilliant red-orange.

All of the robots were met directly with projected gales of a firestorm and were reluctantly pushed back, seared black whenever they were hit, alone and collectively. They tried to fire back their own shots, bullets and explosives both, but even when hitting him head-on, they had no effect on his fiery advance.

His blade was literally melting whatever metal it touched, and the fires morphed into molten lava as it passed through its latest foe. Numbers were useless to the robots at this point, instead just adding smoldering carcasses into the battlefield.

Or frozen ones. Whichever way the swordsman preferred it.

The impervious semblance was a glowing shield around his body, perfectly protecting him from any harm, even as his movements were visibly slowed. It didn't matter how fast he was anyways, since he overpowered every robot that dared to rear its spindly, hinged legs.

His red blade sliced through a pale attempt of blocking legs, then hacked off its head and slashed at another foe. A thrust shattered another apart, and many more were mowed down by a charging rush.

A sickle-like arm stabbed down, stopping by a bare hand, the other bringing a blade up and halving its body. Another molten fire shot at the boy, stopped by the flat of his equally-red-hot blade.

Every move of his had a slow, gargantuan grace to it, like watching an elephant walk. There was nothing sophisticated about his blows, but every swing foretold power and grandeur from the individual, a person of few words and few decorations but of many actions, and so, many successful results.

And at the end of this battle of endurance, whether his semblance and aura or their numbers would run out?

His breaths were labored as his beloved sword dropped to the ground, giving a small smile of success. The remains of old contraptions were strewn apart across the ground, only adding to the ruins of the local wreckage, freshly defeated.

A maroon-haired man ran towards his direction, his expression concerned, this surprised, then confused, having come here to investigate the disturbance.

The teen could not wait to tell him what had just happened.

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 **A ** G T M

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Aodhfin: _Irish_ / white fire

Sterling: _English_ / derived from "sterling silver"

"Gwallgof": Welsh word for "lunatic". A bastard sword with an abnormally broad blade, its major boon is its blade's ability to channel and produce projectiled dust-elemented slashes.

His semblance is the ability to tank hits with the drawback of slowed movements.

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 **A/N:**

 **What are these for specifically, you may ask? Trailers for a bunch of people in a future RWBY x Bloodborne crossover. Why isn't it under that category? Well, aside from the glaringly obvious references, there's no Bloodborne here.** **Just some cool dudes fighting and stuff.**

 **I hope you enjoyed it, and believe me when I say that I am thirsty for constructive criticism. There's quite literally nothing that I will stop at to improve as a growing writer. Except maybe sleep.**

 **Expect seven more.**


	2. Gunmetal

**Disclaimer: RWBY ain't mine. This character is, though.**

 **Ginormous thanks to Cormag again for helping me with this even as I rolled around on the floor and whined a bit. *whispers* Aaaaand I'll totally love it if you could read his RWBY Doo!** **. You'll enjoy it. I promise. Red Tape is pretty sweet too, but only if it's your cup of tea/blood. It sure is mine.**

* * *

 _Vengeance is a childish quest of folly_

 _Forgive, before thou find thyself falling_

* * *

 _[ Boku no Kotoba de wa nai, Kore wa Bokutachi no Kotoba - UVERworld ]_

The lone boy stood in the front yard of a freshly-abandoned country home - not so country that it was outside the protection of Mistral, but outlying enough for the former residents to enjoy the pleasures of what nature should be. He fondled with his grey baseball cap, his feet repeatedly tapping as his sharp, yellow eyes scanned over the quaint residence. He seemed to be suspended in a nostalgic haze, and if it weren't for the pair of katars he clutched to, he would have been nothing but a longing, homesick teen.

Footsteps, several footsteps, too refined, as if fit for combat and stealth, heralded a masked gang. The teen only cocked his head to either side here and there, retaining his mood.

"Where is she?" their leader asked. His expression was unreadable behind the menacing Grimm-like mask.

The black-haired teen smirked and shrugged, turning around. "Not here," he answered with disdain, a corner of his mouth turned down at the signature masks.

His attitude was picked up upon quickly, and the head of the group, a bat faunus, scowled. "Look, human, just tell us where she is and we won't touch you, alright kid?" At his side, various goons readied their standard weapons. The target in front of them would be done for in seconds if he made one wrong move, yet his stance was uncaring for his life, at least to the untrained eye. His sight was unfocused, his head at periodic times turning and twisting.

"But you'll hurt her, right?" Silence fell, the only answer offered to the boy, although he knew it already. He brought his katars up, switching off the safety. "So go away." He aimed at what appeared to be nothing and fired.

A scream rang out. The boy was slightly startled, but was otherwise calm as he lifted his katars up, readying for the oncoming fight. What was left of the waning sunlight glinted off the short, broad blades resting on a handle right above his knuckles, which he held onto with a vice-like grip. The barrel of a gun was situated on the top of the blade, more than ready to fire off another shot.

"That little shit," the leader muttered and waved his men over to move. One of the terrorists was already on it, rushing towards him with dueling blades, blades that the teen easily sidestepped before slashing at her back. It wasn't a finishing blow - as he didn't aim to kill, unlike the White Fang - but he already moved onto the next faunus, dodging too-close bullets as if he was born to do so.

His steps were quick and quiet, and even if the leader was easily keeping tabs on him with his echolocation, it didn't mean his men could do the same. He kept up admirably, not allowing a single strike to so much as glance him as he crossed his arms and slashed at the chest of a defending man. His gun fell apart in a rush of sparks as he staggered back in astonishment.

He entered a brief duel with a katana-wielding woman, his swipes nothing more than thin metallic lines in the air. She tried to do the same, but soon, she didn't even finish reacting to a suddenly broken blade as he fell back. He now kept firing away at the loose circle of faunus that now faltered in their advance at him, moving only to dodge his terrifyingly accurate shots.

It didn't make sense to the leader how a mere human could fight so well in the fraying light of dusk. His strange head movements were creepy, almost, and his yellow eyes were nearly glowing in the fading sunlight.

He entertained the thought of him being a faunus as the firing stopped.

"What, too cowardly to fight?" The teen challenged. He reloaded a magazine in each katar and waited patiently, shifting his cap until the visor was at the back of his head. Feet shuffled in nervousness as he continued to pivot on his heels, taking in every sight and every sound.

There was the sound of something pouring. It could be a nearby spring, or something else. And if it was something else, he didn't want to disturb that something else, or everything here would end prematurely.

He fingered the trigger, ready for anything.

He heard a small click and lightly rolled away from the shot, shooting back accordingly. Unlike the initiator, he hit his mark. He sprinted towards the unconscious faunus and sliced at her companions, who were trying to back away in surprise. They were all too slow to hit him, and too slow to dodge him. The speed was almost inhuman, but it was not him utilizing the powers of his soul. He was simply _just that fast_.

The teen practically jumped from person to person, the light swipes building upon each other until they succumbed to the unbearable, relentless forces behind them.

"Hey, everyone get behind!" the leader barked out, and the teen cringed at his voice, not daring to pursue them. Once the faunus was assured that all of his men were safely away from his line of melee attacks, at least, he stepped right up, unraveling a ribbon-like material from around his arms. "Just tell us, _human_ ," he spat out as the ribbons began to twirl in the air with a menacing sheen, a dart at each end. Such a petty fabric and small nub of metal had never looked more threatening upon a grown, built faunus.

"I thought you would understand me when I said 'no'," he said, facing him as well, readying himself yet again.

Twin strands trailed amongst the grass as the leader sported a frown, his nose turned up in indignation. "You never said it!" He swung them towards the teen, their metallic _fwip!_ ear-splitting to the teen. He jumped back and grimaced in superficial pain.

"Are you so dumb that you don't understand the term 'reading in between the lines'?"

Ah, him and his big, sass-filled mouth.

The movement of fabric was harder to predict than of rigid, conventional weapons, but the teen did an admirable job to keep up, although that didn't mean that he was able to inflict any damage as well. Bullets were halted in their advance by flowing streaks of satin-like metal, the darts being batted away by katar after katar. Once, the ribbon was able to wrap around his right blade, which almost costed the teen defeat if he hadn't unwrapped his katar from the other's weapon's tight hold in time.

It was infuriating to the man, but the child kept his calm, even as they were both on equal terms. It was highly unlikely that the playing field could be altered, unless…

"Sir, it's ready!"

Shamelessly, at the rebel's voice, he kicked the boy away as much as he could and leapt back, labored breathes catching up after each other .

Stumbling back, the other stuck his feet onto the ground, panting deeply as he forced himself to still his heart, listening again for anything, anyone. His chest was _burning_.

The pouring sound had stopped.

He wondered why it stuck out to him in the first place, when he remembered that _there were no springs nearby_.

That was when he heard the crackling.

Faster than even himself, the flames rose, engulfing the clearing in its swathes of fury as the White Fang looked triumphantly on. It's not that they would care for the demolishing of such a beautiful house, much less for the passing of an enemy, although a few frowned and discreetly turned their heads away.

"Good job, men," the bat faunus commended, showing a smile as everyone began to walk away. It was a wrap up, less clean than wanted with no additional info on what they wanted, to boot, but at the end… at least no one died.

The crackling of the fires faded into the growing night…

* * *

The entourage of fauni continued walking down the worn-down country trail, casually conversing among themselves, slowing their paces for their recuperating comrades.

The leader looked up suddenly, sporting a frown. "Did you hear that?"

Everyone began to do the same, eyebrows furrowing, ears straining.

Whatever sound it was, it was growing closer.

"...aaaaaAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Their previous opponent leapt at them, his black attire outlined in the moonlight, slightly singed and smelling of dense smoke as he leapt at a member with feral ferocity. His blades were katars no more, instead split into three claws, slightly hooked at their ends, gleaming treacherously.

His wide, yellow eyes burned the image of hate, the same hate they all bore, upon the minds of the shocked onlookers. Two fell were knocked out of their senses before they shook their heads, freeing themselves from their shocked stupor.

One had the sense (or rather, the lack of) to try and freeze him with ice dust, but all the bullets used seemed to not exist.

Another powered up his spear with the dust of lightning and thrusted at the intruder, but he clasped the spear between both hands, the tip mere moments away from his face, unaffected by the terrifyingly high voltage.

A faunus shot at him twice, and finally they found their mark, digging unusually deep in his flesh as he cried out in pain. He drove the shocking spear away and slashed and shot at its wielder before turning around and shooting at his offender. He was downed by pure force in a flurry of bullets.

Quickly discarding his rounds of ammo, he reloaded with yet another belt of shots and ducked behind tree after tree, firing off his own rain of bullets until he reached towards the leader. He already had his ribbon-darts out, swinging them in deadly fluidity, the soft _swip swip_ of mysterious satin and metal heard only by them both.

No words of pride and jest were spoken of, instead opting to rush at each other, trading blow for blow. Both were matched equally. Thin slashes from the twin claws whittled down on the bat faunus' aura, and constant swips makes soft, light lines of red upon the boy's skin.

Gone was his controlled and relaxed state, reborn as the animalistic chaos of anger. His original smooth flows gave way to a staccato of stabs and thrusts, chaotic and uncontrolled by reason nor logic.

The fact that he had a significantly weaker aura didn't deter him at all. If he could survive a roaring fire _unburned_ _and unscathed_ , then he was a truly dangerous enemy indeed.

The screech of a hawk, loud and jarring, shattered the atmosphere and they both halted mid-attack, blades inches from neck, cloth moments from trapping. Everyone froze in place, but for the teen alone, who only smirked a grin laced with pride. He kicked down the White Fang captain onto the ground and slammed his head to a tree with a painful _thud!_. The other was seeing stars along with a pair of sinister, yellow eyes peering down at him. The bat faunus was suddenly remembered the few times he saw owls in the dead of night.

He had those same eyes.

"You come near my family and I again, and I'll _cut you down_."

He left him there and took up his ribbon-darts, haphazardly pocketed them, and watched them all run away with their tails between their legs (figuratively and literally). He sighed, hung up his pair of katars on his belt, and took his cap off. Two tufts of hair- no, _feathers_ \- bounced up innocently, ruffled and disheveled. He sighed at the sight of his ruined hat.

Oh well. He had more anyways.

Just as the claws merged back into the unified blade of his katars, a white-clothed, silver-haired boy jumped down from a particularly short treetop, running up to him and hugging his stomach, squeezing him from fright. "Are you okay? Are they gone now? Can we go back home yet?"

He looked sadly down at him. "Home's gone now, kid."

He looked up, his piercing brown eyes striking the teen with his own wisdom. Not a word needed to be said from him.

He smiled and gently stroked his feathery hair. The teen's entire body ached, and he smelled terrible. His head was ringing from his overwhelmed senses, and he desperately needed some downtime.

"Nevermind. Let's go home, Gavin."

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A **G ** T M

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Greyson: _English_ / Grey's son

Wolfe: _English_ / Wolf

"Clawmark": A pair of katars paired with a shotgun. The blades can split into three separate claws.

His semblance is a passive defensive ability to be immune against illnesses, toxins, burns, paralysis, etc. (tentatively called secondary effects) in exchange with an exceptionally weak aura

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Aaaaaaaand after a bit of "wtf am I doing", I am back with another trailer! Huzzah!**

 **I was gonna make him a wolf-faunus, but then I remembered how much cooler and cuter owls are. They're essentially flying cats. :D**


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